


White Symphony

by virtueofvice



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtueofvice/pseuds/virtueofvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denizens and darlings of the opera house find hope, companionship and love in the aftermath of fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had left the mask behind. She remembered it clearly now, sitting in the Seconda Donna’s dressing room, which had been empty for months. Since the silently triumphant Christine had left the opera house, with a wave and a shining new diamond, no one had dared enter the reputedly haunted room… Save Meg. People claimed to have heard sobs in the night – she had heard nothing. Still, the abandoned room proved a pristine silent chamber, undisturbed – Perfect for a young woman lost in thought.

As the rest of the Opera Popular’s mob charged off to search for the murderer – unsuccessfully, of course – little Meg (“petite Giry,” as they called her) had wandered off to explore the lovely chamber of shattered glass and scattered sheet music. She found only the hard, smooth white mask, still warm from the living flesh of the wearer. Turning it over reverently in her small hands, she knew with certainty that her suspicions, all that her mother had been hiding from her for all these years, had finally been confirmed. But the so-called Opera Ghost was long gone now, likely vanished into the underground as the primitive and slow-moving Parisian fire brigade battled the flames above. 

But of course the opera house still stood. Privately, Meg wondered if a building that had held so many souls, that had watched silently as so many laughed, cried, and danced their way across life’s stage, could ever be destroyed. It held the life and livelihood of hundreds in its walls. Though construction and repairs prevented performances for the time being, the Opera Popular was very much its old self, but for one significant difference – the Opera Ghost remained silent. 

Meg and Christine had been childhood friends, growing up together as sisters, sharing a corner in the ballet dormitories. Mme. Giry favored them as her daughters and allowed them more freedom than most. But while Christine had been favored by the Phantom and taken down into the mysterious belly of the Opera House, Meg had never been allowed to go. Indeed, she’d never been allowed to explore beyond the well-lit rooms she had grown up in; even when she stumbled upon something new, her mother was quick to pull her back.

And when Christine rose to the rank of Seconda Donna – Prima Donna in La Carlotta’s absence – Meg remained a chorus girl of no importance, left to serve the girl she had played with as a child.

In truth she wanted to resent it, but the young woman held too much affection for the dreamy Christine. The dark-eyed Northern girl had always been more susceptible to ghost stories, legends, superstitions; always religious to the point of fanaticism (focused on her father’s dying promise). Therefore, she had been a more suited recipient for the guise of Angel of Music. But while Christine had – at first – idolized the Phantom and become his protégé, Meg thought that she could perhaps have been merely his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Wrapped in silence and his own despair, the Phantom had watched.

Erik hated silence. Since his boyhood, he had always taken comfort in music, however simple the tune. But since the grand debacle, the disaster that his beloved Christine had brought down on him, the Opera Ghost thought it best to remain silent. There was no joy, no solace in it. But it kept him safe, leaving him to brood upon his own melancholy in peace. 

As the fire and the mob raged above, the Phantom had bid goodbye to his unwilling bride and her lover, disappearing into the bowels of Paris. The sewers, no, he was no common rat; but the various narrow tunnels and catacombs favored by thieves and murderers. Several of these had been unwise enough to threaten the masked man. The mistake had quickly been corrected.  
Masked man? Oh, certainly. Leaving behind the white mask that bore her touch, Erik had opted instead for one of black satin, more of the variety favored by bal masque revelers. And when the fired had died down and the mob had grown bored and dissipated, the Phantom had returned to the Opera House.

There were new managers, of course; Andre and Firmin had experienced more than enough of the arts. Performances had been halted for the moment. But with those exceptions, life at the opera had very much returned to normal.

Still Erik remained silent. He pondered the shallow, unfriendly, unaccepting, nature of the world in general and of women in particular. For God’s sake, he was only a man. Warped, twisted, broken, yes – but a man, nonetheless. Did he not deserve a shred of happiness, a brief respite to his loneliness, just one moment that did not end in heartache? Even his mother had loathed him. He found the tiny, private chamber behind the Seconda Donna’s abandoned dressing room an excellent place to be completely alone…

Or did, until the little Giry made her first appearance.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting for hours in the damn, cool corridor, staring blankly into the darkened mirror, almost always resulted in sore limbs. Erik bore it in silence, his personal and private penance. Indeed, these days the Phantom bore everything in silence – never speaking, and certainly never singing. He had spoken to no one, not even himself, since that faithful night when glass shattered and the opera house burned. At first, alone, he had wept; but he had long since ceased even that. He had, in his loneliness more acute than and he had yet felt, become stone – unfeeling, still, cold, and cut off from the world. Just another gargoyle to make the Opera Popular all the more majestic and intimidating. 

Still and silent, the black mask firmly in place over his ruined features. Erik waited. Waited for Death, for an angel of mercy, for God or the Devil – anyone to end the dull ache of his solitary torment. 

He did not expect, however, a little ballerina.

Meg Giry stepped quietly into the room, padding lightly on delicate feet in satin ballet slippers. She still wore the white dress, identical to its kindred worn by other dancers, that was chosen for practice. A pale blue ribbon tied back her long blonde hair, and her fair skin was flushed. After a moment of internal argument, she swore softly in French… And in spite of himself, the Phantom found himself amused by her small fury.

“I will never be anything more than a chorus girl.” She complained to no one in particular. “Only a stage dancer, practically moving decoration. The daughter of the greatest ballerina in Paris and I am destined to spend my days trapped in this prison!” Frustrated, she sank into a chair and picked up an abandoned, silver-handled hairbrush, taking the ribbon from her hair. “Mother allows herself – and me – to remain under the thumb of that manager and his lapdog.” Another sigh, and she set about brushing her hair, an only half successful attempt to soothe herself.

Erik felt intrigue, tinged with pity. He knew what it felt like to be a prisoner. He knew the ache of ambition, trapped like a bird in a golden cage.

Both sat in silence, brooding upon their individual thoughts: Meg, upon the apparent hopelessness of her future, and Erik upon this unexpected intrusion into his solitude. When Meg rose to leave, Erik still had not spoken a word. But a new idea had been planted, like a seed, in the deep recesses of his mind. His mind was creative, fertile, and try as he would the nagging thought would not go away.

Perhaps it was high time for him to come out of hiding once more.


End file.
